


dime & dog

by lustsick



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Drugs, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Mystery, Slow Burn, Thriller, Undercover Missions, undercover agent mark lee, unstoppable haechan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 10:40:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19271590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lustsick/pseuds/lustsick
Summary: Mark Lee is twenty-one, born and raised in Toronto, Canada. Graduated at a local high school near his parents' home, attended a local college and barely graduated two months ago in May. It’s July now and he has a paid internship with CHC Corp. in the finance division. Mark Lee couldn’t be happier; fresh out of college with a degree in finance and an ambition to hopefully run the division in CHC.Mark Lee is nothing like Minhyung, but he’s everything Minhyung has to be for the job.





	dime & dog

**Author's Note:**

> hello! welcome to mel's first chaptered fic for nct!
> 
> before I continue, please note that this story is M. The rating of the fic is up for changing in case anyone thinks I should move the rating to E, especially for later chapters!  
> Due to the mystery (?) and mark centric structure this fic has (hence, the tags give away everything the reader knows as of now), not all tags are present. There is more tags that need to be added but sam and ren (blame them <3) encouraged me to keep haech and other character's identities an enigma, so look at the tags every chapter if you want to know what pieces are added to the story!  
> I'm aiming for five parts, each hopefully around the same length as this chapter (ex:8-10k) :P maybe i'll run out of ideas before that, not sure yet!
> 
> thank you so much for clicking! sorry for such a boring summary T__T special thanks to sam (my lovely beta) and ren <3 if anything is unclear, you can find me here:  
> [my curious cat](https://curiouscat.me/lustsick) ♡

“Halt,” Johnny's voice is low and crisp, stern in a typical manner that demonstrates power, but also clear disapproval at something that has caught his sight.

No one dares to look at him. How could they possibly turn and acknowledge him when Johnny is walking down the linear line of agents, slowly and imperious. The sound of his leather combat boots stepping carefully on the gravel, unkindly sinking the stones further into the earth as a clear reminder of the division of power between him and them.

His lips twitch at the corner of his mouth, a bit cruelly, a clear tale that someone has been caught and they’ve had the terrible luck of being caught by Johnny Seo.

He takes one step, two, three, four before he stops, shoulder to shoulder with the agent who’s had the misfortune of falling short behind perfection. He lifts his right leg exactly three inches above the ground before he turns with the heel of his left boot to face the victim. He smiles when he faces the expressionless side profile of the desired agent, “Minhyung.”

Mark, who had been piercing his gaze at agent Yukhei’s nape, repeats Johnny’s previous movements to face him, foot three inches above the ground, pressing down on his left heel to turn smoothly before dropping it. He straightens his back and looks at the space between Johnny’s brows, never straight at eyes. With his hands firmly at his side, muscles sore from the pressure he’s applying so he won’t dare tremble or sweat. “Minhyung Lee, special agent number ML0899,” He recites in a robotic tone, “Alias: Mark.”

Johnny doesn’t speak for a long minute after his mandatory introduction. Instead he looks down at Mark’s feet, leather combat boots that have been through hell and back, yet stand proud and in one piece, a reflection of the man who bears them. Johnny sticks his own shoe out and reaches between the space of Mark’s shoes, tapping the tip of his against the side of Mark’s to which the agent spreads his legs an inch further. “You fell behind,” He mentions, eyes trailing up Mark’s posture to land back at his eyes. “What do I always say?”

Mark clenches his jaw briefly, only for a second before he blinks, sharp wide eyes meeting Johnny’s in a bold challenge. “Never be too quick, never be too slow,” He points his chin. “Don’t stand out, our job is to blend in.”

Johnny smiles slowly at his words. He takes in a long breath, nostrils flaring as if he were absorbing everything Mark had let slip through his chapped lips. “You stood out,” His smile grows wider, having caught a fish in his rod, desperately clinging to a bait. “So stand out.”

Except Mark Lee isn’t one to be desperate. He is strong, he is prideful and that’s what Johnny likes about him, though he can be a bit too eager at times that it makes him stand out. It’s not a terrible thing, but it's not the best thing Mark could have done, especially in his line of work. Johnny needs him to be still, a calm before a storm, a serpent in the field, awaiting a mission.

Still, Mark steps out of the line and comes merely inches away from Johnny with a hard expression, but his eyes are wide and filled with adrenaline. “Drop and plank, don’t move unless I tell you.”

Mark stares back at him, lips wordless but eyes daring. He steps back and drops in an instant, the base of his palm pressing harshly against the gravel, but he doesn’t open his mouth to complain. He can see the tip of Johnny’s leather shoes right before him, he’s positive if Johnny were to tell him to do a push up, his forehead would touch the material of his shoe.

Johnny steps back and turns, facing forward without much of a word to Mark, the agent hadn’t expected anything less from him. “Continue your march,” Johnny mused above him, eyes darting down to see Mark’s silky black hair hang low enough so that he couldn’t see his stone expression. “Step over Mark if you have to,” He cruelly added, turning to face forward with his hands behind his back as he began striding, once again digging the gravel further into the ground.

Mark remains in his position, body a rock locked in place as his fellow agents step over him. Some of them, perhaps being assholes or solely for the fact that this was Mark’s punishment and Johnny would have wanted them to give him a hard time, brush their legs roughly along his sides as they reach over, attempting to kick him over. Mark’s body tips, but not once did he fall over or allow them to push him into the stones and rocks. His fingers only press deeper into the gravel for support, the edge of his nails digging into dirt. Mark could feel his blood rushing to his head and the tips of his toes, but not a single sound of defeat could leave his lips because Mark Lee was not that type of person. He was strong, had been through hell and back, and the pain of the sharp rocks denting his palms - possibly _slicing_ skin - or the kicks to his side would not break him, no matter how many people prayed on his downfall.

 

 

⚔️

 

 

“It’s like you’re looking for it,” Chittaphon, alias Ten, speaks as he removes his black leather body harness with a sharp smirk on his lips, canine teeth peaking as if he were to bite at any second like a wild dog. “How hard is it to stay in line?” He sarcastically throws back, shoulders tall and proud as he shoves his harness into his metal locker, back to Mark.

Mark leans against the metal locker and casts a look at Yukhei, alias Lucas, to roll his eyes as if to say ‘ _here he goes again’_ because Ten _always_ has something to say. Though there was time he had nothing to voice, and it was when Mark had beat him in language evaluations, scoring a perfect score in Spanish. Mark had muttered a string of curse words in the language, his tongue flicking along the roof of his mouth as insult after insult continued. That was the only time he had successfully shut the other agent up, and it wasn’t even in his native tongue.

Mark placed the gauze around his palms, he had Yeri take a look at the cuts and even put ointment before he took the gauze to do the rest. “There was a mosquito on my neck,” He brought his palm up to his mouth to tear at the gauze as if it were raw meat. “I hate every minor inconvenience, I had to get rid of it.”

Ten slams his locker then, but none of the agents bat an eye at the sound, completely conditioned to remain calm and still, even in the most dangerous situation. Ten being an asshole was far from scary, it was more annoying than anything. “Then you must hate being an agent,” He turned on his heels to face Mark across of the locker room. “Considering our job is centered on spotting every single inconvenience.”

Mark pulled the gauze away from his mouth. With his eyes glaring at Ten, he uses his index finger and thumb to tuck the gauze so it could remain intact. “Like I said,” Mark blinks back at him, a mirror of how tall and proud Ten stands. “I get rid of things, I have to fix them.”

Ten clicks his tongue, eyes finally blinking as a smirk plays slowly on his lips, cunning and vengeful. “One day, you’re going to meet your match and you’ll quickly realize you can’t get rid of everything.” He props his boot on the steel bench of the locker room to tie his laces, “I can’t wait to see that day.”

“Me too,” Mark childishly snaps in retaliation, turning away from him to place the gauze roll back in his locker.

Ten doesn’t seem anywhere near close to being done and Mark would have been a fool to suspect that of him. “You’re going to wish you’d have stayed in line—“

“Mark,” Johnny’s voice is firm and strict, demanding attention and completely dominating it when he enters the locker room. His brow is raised in question, speaking volumes at how at ease everyone was only a moment ago. Johnny shuffles his eyes to Mark, he turns his head to motion him out. “Taeil wants to see you before you go home.”

“Yes sir, I just have to—“

Johnny flares his nostrils, a clear sign of irritation for where Mark’s words might end up going. “Now, Mark.” He hisses in a sharp tone, eyes narrowing to let him know he was only being kind earlier when he made Mark plank for a solid hour. Mark knows Johnny could have made him do two, three, maybe even four hours if he truly wanted to have Mark bleeding out. “Don’t make Taeil call you again.”

It’s a threat, Mark knows it and the entire room of agents can sense it. Mark clamps his mouth shut and nods his head in agreement, moving to shut his locker door just when Johnny stalks out of the locker room, slamming the door after him.

“Better get going,” Ten whistles behind him like the devil on his shoulder, Mark doesn’t have time to argue with him. He’s thankful for when Guanheng, alias Hendery, grabs Ten’s nape and drags him away to the showers (where Mark hopes his mouth will be full and drowning of water instead of insults).

Mark follows Johnny’s path, heading straight for Taeil’s office with a hard expression on his face. Taeil hardly calls upon anyone unless it’s for missions or an agent in a serious need of discipline. From the way Johnny had played no games, Mark can only suspect it must be the second option. He wonders what extreme, body breakdown course of events Taeil has been coaxing up with Johnny in his office for Mark to take on. He can only hope it has nothing to do with being chained underwater with a ticking bomb on their ankle like how their first week of training had been, Mark could swear he still hears the ticking loud in his ears when he dreams.

Mark had never intended to be difficult. But he was always a bit too eager, a bit too greedy, too determined and too prideful to let things pass him like a swipe in the air. He was a tiger in the wild, waiting patiently to gut his prey and tear them limb from limb, he was a fighter. He was well aware that as an agent he must obey and he must listen to how he must execute his missions and plans, but even then Mark was a rookie hungry for a bloodshed.

He knocks on Taeil’s door only once, reciting his real name, his number and then his alias loud and clear so his boss could hear him on the other side. After his introduction, the door slides open on it’s own for Mark to step into the lion’s den. When Mark steps inside, it’s no surprise to him to see Taeil sitting at his desk, Johnny standing at his right and Kun, a well respected agent that primarily trained rookies like Mark, at his left.

“Mark,” Taeil looks up from the file he’s been reading. Mark looks straight at the empty grey wall, never directly at Taeil unless directed to. However, he’s almost certain Taeil has his portfolio in his hands, papers scattered along his desk of Mark’s achievements starting from when he was born to this very moment. “Johnny says you‘re an eager one,” He muses, eyes flickering up at him.

Mark clenches his jaw, unsure if he should agree or not with Taeil’s words. “I just want to do my job properly, sir.” He respectfully replies, hands unconsciously finding their way to his back.

“Look at me when I talk to you,” Taeil demands in a cool tone and Mark’s body tenses up for once though Taeil sounds like he means no harm.

Mark looks down to meet his eyes, it’s the first time he’s ever made eye contact with Taeil like this. “Yes sir,” He respectfully says once again.

Taeil hums, pleased at the contact before he dismisses Mark in favor of looking at the transcript of his life, eyes darting quickly from left to right, up and down. “Three group missions executed cleanly and quickly, one short solo mission in Spain executed perfectly.” Taeil’s eyes move from the transcript to meet Mark’s once again, “All done in under two years.”

Kun clears his throat then, a nice smile on his lips as he examines Mark. “He’s very adaptable,” He praises, and Mark watches the way his eyes roam along his form with approval. “He didn’t train long either, only six months. He’s a fast learner.”

“Excelled in twelve languages as of date,” Johnny suddenly joins in, expression firm, a stark contrast to Kun’s smile, yet their voices hold the same song of praise and tone. “Even took on a leadership role in two of the three group missions.”

Mark squinted at them in confusion, shoulders slightly dropping from being so squared as he listens to the compliment. Taeil only bores holes into his face as they fire back and forth, trying to prove a case that Mark hasn’t quite figured out yet what could be. As far as he knew, Johnny thought Mark was a nuisance and Kun had never really paid any extra attention to him in the training zone. Yet here he stands, hands coming from behind his back to instead hang low at his side in pure wonder as Taeil listens, contemplating what to do with Mark next based on their words.

“How long since your last mission?” Taeil cuts through Johnny and Kun’s rambling of praises, fingers tapping against the metal of his desk, the sound filling the room and pressing at everyone’s necks.

“Two months,” Mark answers quickly and sharply, back straightening once again at being addressed by his superior.

Taeil nods his head before looking up at Johnny and Kun once, twice before going back to Mark’s manila portfolio. He closes Mark’s profile and blindly reaches for his stamp, pulling at the wooden knob before pressing the bright red blocked word ‘ _Approved_ ’ on the profile. Mark’s eyes widened almost comically when Taeil pulls his hand back calmly, he looks up at the three superiors before him, eyes huge and waiting for an explanation.

“I still want to see how well you’ve improved since the last time you’ve been out,” Taeil doesn’t smile, but his eyes seem incredibly pleased by the exchange. He taps his fingers, once, twice before his usually brown orbs seem to flicker an intense black. “I approved, but I could remove his name any time.”

Mark stands in confusion, mind racing as to what Taeil means by his words. Johnny and Kun clear their throats, and Mark realizes that Taeil hadn’t been addressing him but the other two skilled agents, “We won’t let you down, Taeil.” Johnny promises. “Mark won’t let you down,” He corrects, this time firmer and like a steady crash brushing against the shore.

“You have a month Youngho,” Taeil looks away from Mark, beady eyes focusing on his computer instead, completely uninterested in Mark and everyone else in the room. “Dismissed,” He mumbles, barely audible for the three others in the room, but the way he dissociates from them is a clear enough message that he wants them gone within the next three seconds of him typing his sentence.

None of them loiter around to see Taeil tell them again. It isn’t until Taeil presses the button on his desk that slides his metal office door shut, successfully kicking them out, that Mark turns sharp eyes to Johnny and Kun. “What just happened?” He stammered out, mouth agape and growing wider by the second in excitement because it seems as if Mark just received a mission.

“You have a month, Mark,” Kun kindly says, a smile on his lips when he looks at him, almost like a father blooming proudly under approval of their son. “Based on what Johnny has reported to me,” Mark looks over at his superior, who remains stoic even though Kun is speaking of the fact that Johnny talks about him in good manner. “We’ve recommended you to Taeil to take on a much longer mission on your own.”

Before Mark could let out a noise of surprise or even one to show his gratitude, Johnny unclenches his jaw and smiles with his cheeks high and his lips curled at the edges. Mark stands in silence, almost completely spellbound by how youthful Johnny looks when he’s not locking his jaw hard when the agents fall short or glaring until he’s created creases along his forehead that make him look older than he is. “You’ve improved a lot Mark, still a stubborn fuck but we can work with that.” He says, a dimple on his cheek that Mark has never seen before.

It takes Mark a moment to realize that Johnny is _teasing_ him, being ever so playful and lighthearted that Mark feels like he’s staring at an entirely new person. Which is why he utters the words - “Sorry sir,” in a haste, head bowing respectfully just in case Johnny decides to surprise him with a punch.

Kun chuckles softly and Mark flinches when he looks back up at them, standing tall and muscular with light scars and like they’re waltzing right out of Mark’s nightmares - his hell. “You should be kinder to your subordinates, Youngho.” Kun clicks his tongue childishly at the special agent, a soft hand coming to land on Johnny’s shoulder for Mark to see that Johnny is just like them, humane. “He’s a real softy, he’s fond of you too.”

Johnny grimaces at the words, but his smile never leaves his lips, not even when he playfully slaps Kun’s hand away from his shoulder. “Don’t tell him that,” He criticizes lightly. “If I look approachable to my subordinates they’ll never take me seriously.”

Kun hums, knowing all too well about how easy he’s gotten on Sicheng, alias Winwin, from his clan of agents and how that has proven to make his life as a trainer a bit more difficult. “I suppose,” He shrugs and turns back to Mark with a gentle smile. “A month, you have a month to prove to Taeil you can handle it.”

Mark licked his dry lips, eager for a taste, eager for them to unclip the imaginary leash from his metaphorical collar. “When do I start the tests?” Because they are tests, and they will push Mark until they believe he has nothing more to give, but that’s when Mark will come in rolling with more than they expected of him.

“Tomorrow,” Johnny squares his shoulders, eyes bright and expectant. “As protocol, I’m going to inform the agents today before you all are discharged of your potential mission. No one will go easy on you, I’ll make sure of it.” It amazes Mark how he can say something so cruel, yet sound so joyful.

“Am I allowed to know what the mission is?” Mark says, upbeat.

Johnny smirks just as Kun snorts and walks off without much of a word. Johnny turns to follow Kun, so Mark is quick to chase after them with a cheerful expression on his features. “You have to earn that right first, Minhyung.” He pauses to look over his shoulder at Mark, “Do you think you can do that, agent?”

 

 

 

⚔️

 

 

 

 _They fucking love bombs around here_ , Mark notes sarcastically to himself when he watches Guanheng, alias Hendery, sink underwater with a ticking bomb on his ankle.

It’s a hoax. Guanheng doesn’t have a timer on his leg, but Mark does and that’s why Mark has to remain calm the moment Yoonoh’s, alias Jaehyun, gives him a brutal shove into the water. Just like Hendery, Mark has a fifty pound metal ankle ball that makes him sink into the water. He follows the same path Hendery does, except when Mark settles, he moves quickly to be at his side. He’s momentarily grateful that they’ve done this before, and that Mark can hold his breath underwater for a solid seventeen minutes while Hendery takes the lead in their clan with a whopping twenty-one minutes.

As Mark’s focusses, he knows he’s supposed to dissociate Hendery’s (fake) bomb first and then his all under five minutes. It sounds simple, easy almost, except Mark has to focus carefully on the different codes and wires both bombs have and he’s certain Taeyong, their tech, had made both bombs different under Taeil’s command. So easy was an understatement, Mark was meant to fail.

His eyes are wide and alert when he instantly moves to remove the weight on ankle, neglecting his ticking bomb on his right ankle first. He frees himself from the weight and swims over to where Hendery has sunk, eyes closed and mouth clamped shut tight. He’s in character and Mark could have laughed if it weren’t for the fact that he’s almost sure he’s lost a minute and a half due to the sinking.

He follows procedure, places a mandatory hand on Hendery’s neck to check his pulse. _Never waste your time on a dead man_ , Johnny had once said to them, _save the ones who are alive_. Though he knows Hendery isn’t dead, he still follows every single rule because in the end this is a test and Hendery will have to report how well he’s done at the task. Mark takes no chances, not once does he think of crossing a line he shouldn’t.

Mark realizes a bit too late that Hendery will only float upwards. He doesn’t have time to swim up and pull Hendery out of the water to the dock, so he grabs his ankle, the one that has the death machine laced tightly around it, and goes to work. He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a pocket knife, pushing at it to free the blade. He skillfully tucks the blade inside the cracks of the ticking bomb and pushes at the surface, peeling the technology part from part until he’s met with the nitty gritty parts.

He sees red, blue, green, yellow wires intertwined into one another as well the turning crown on the side that he can twist and pull apart. He follows the wires one by one, tracing their paths and pulling the bomb bit by bit to find where exactly they connect. He ignores the negative symbols carved into the device and instead finds the plus signs, the owners being the blue and yellow wire. Mark clenches the pocket knife in his hold tightly. He turns the crown in that moment and sticks his knife in the crack that keeps the crown intact, he slowly and carefully pushes the crown out. The yellow wire follows along with crown, Mark looks at the time, two minutes, before he clips blue wire instead of the yellow with certainty.

Taeyong, like any other tech out there, would never connect the wire that triggers the bomb to something that could easily pull at the wire.

He grabs Hendery’s wrist tightly, shoving his knife back into his pocket, and swims them up to freedom quickly. _Save yourself last,_ Johnny’s voice is like a broken record in his head by now. He takes his gasp of air first, pushing Hendery to where Ten and Yerim, alias Yeri, pull Hendery up. Mark grips the edge of the dock and pushes himself up, instantly looking down at his ankle and seeing one minute. He quickly sits on his bottom and focuses on pulling apart his bomb quickly. He sees the same colors, but this time when he pulls the turning crown cautiously, the blue wire follows, leaving behind the yellow. Mark slides his knife under the yellow wire and slices through it with ten seconds to spare.

He doesn’t have any time to catch his breath as he moves to Hendery’s body, preparing himself to start mouth-to-mouth before Hendery springs up with a smirk. “No need,” He chuckles softly, red eyes turning to look at their superiors. “He followed every rule in the book, sir.”

Johnny smiles down at them, Taeil nods his head in satisfaction. “Afraid of a little mouth-to-mouth, Hendery?” Kun teases as Mark’s cheeks tint just the tiniest bit at the question.

“Of course not,” Hendery cheekily flashes a wide smile, grabbing Mark’s collar abruptly, much to the agent’s surprise. “We’ve all been certified, but if you want to see—“

“Approved,” Taeil cuts in then with a neutral expression, turning on his heels as Taeyong shoots Mark a thumbs up for pulling apart the fake bombs he’s designed, running after Taeil to show him new plans with a skip in his step.

Mark sighs in content and removes Hendery’s hand from his collar in order to lay flat on the dock. “You’re not tired are you, Mark Lee?” Johnny asks above him, shielding the sun from Mark’s eyes with that same pleased smile on his face when he praised Mark to Taeil.

Mark springs up once more with a tiny smirk, “Of course not, sir.”

 

 

 

⚔️

 

 

Yukhei, who is always smiling and tripping over his words, is standing before Mark with a glare, throwing stars back and forth without a single pause in his movement. His chest is heaving, wrist flickering back and forth as he aims for Mark’s arms, legs, chest, _head._

One of them, because Mark is a tad bit slow but nowhere near rundowned, barely nicks his left arm. The star drops to the floor with the tiniest bit of Mark’s blood along the spikes, Mark doesn’t flinch and only drops to the floor quickly when Yukhei throws another blade. This one hits the wall behind Mark, a strong enough force that the blade gets stuck to the wall.

“Tired?” Yukhei calls out, a gummy smile on his lips and a sharp blade in his right hand as he approaches Mark.

Mark, on his hands and knees, looks up at Yukhei through his hair and lashes as the tall agent approaches him. “Never,” He chuckles breathlessly as he straightens up on his knees, delicate fingers running along the cut Yukhei had successfully made on him.

“Good,” Yukhei smiles widely before he lunges for Mark with the intentions of slitting more skin until the floor is pooling with Mark’s blood.

Which is why Mark rolls the exact moment Yukhei falls to the ground, prepared to cut him. With Yukhei hitting the ground, chest pressed against the black marbled floor, Mark turns over a second later to land on Yukhei’s back, a quick hand going to hold his wrist down before Yukhei can blindly throw the blade back. Yukhei tries to get up, he tries to jab his elbow into Mark’s side to get him off but Mark collects himself quickly. He bunches over Yukhei, presses one knee to Yukhei’s arm, forcing him down, and keeps another knee rooted to the ground besides Yukhei’s body. Then he holds Yukhei’s nap down, forces his cheek against the cool marble until his skin has turned white from the force.

He forcefully turns Yukhei’s wrist, the one that clenches the blade like his life depends on it, with his hand. Yukhei is bleeding, the sharp blade digging further and further into his skin in response to the way Mark forces his hand closer and closer to his face. Yukhei’s eyes go cross eyed as he tries to fight back, but Mark keeps his weight on him, heavy and dominant so Yukhei can’t overthrow him. All Mark must do is push harder against Yukhei’s will to fight back until the taller agent’s face is being _sliced_ -

“Clear,” Johnny’s voice is firm through the intercom, exactly when Yukhei’s face is red, beads of sweat running down his forehead and the blade only half a centimeter away from cutting flesh.

Mark gets off of Yukhei in an instant, a bright smile on his lips when he offers him a hand. “Are you okay?”

Yukhei snorts and drops the blade in favor of taking Mark’s hand to stand. He stands proudly, cheeks round as he looks down at Mark with no hard feelings. “Never better,” He says and Mark knows he means it.

Mark looks up at the reflective glass windows with hopeful eyes. He shoots himself a thumbs up, knowing very well that Taeil, Johnny and Kun are possibly watching him like a hawk. “You think Taeil approves?”

Yukhei slaps a heavy hand on his shoulder, “I think you did fucking great, Mark!” He roars, hand sliding down to Mark’s upper hand where he’s left his trace. Mark’s black shirt is torn from the blade and when Yukhei pulls back he finds the area of the shirt has soaked with the agent’s blood. He stares at his red fingers with a smile, “Gotta patch you up, buddy. Ten’s up next and he’s not going to go easy on you.”

Mark huffs back a laugh and reaches an arm over his body to hold onto his bleeding arm, “Good.” He pokes his tongue along the corner of his mouth. “I'm not here to go easy on anyone either.”

 

 

 

⚔️

 

 

 

A gunshot goes off somewhere to Mark’s right, he falls to the ground in an instant. Another one, a third one, fourth, fifth - Mark has stopped keeping count and instead has started noting the bruises on his body from falling and rolling away from danger, from Ten.

He’s empty handed, completely stripped of any weapons because that’s how cruel any situation could be. Mark must know what it’s like to fight against firearms, must learn how to hunt with his own bare hands and claw like a ferocious lion until his fingers are a luscious red that isn’t his own.

Ten’s a mad man, a complete fucking lunatic with a gun, shooting fast and blindly like he wants to blow Mark’s brain out. He’s precise though, every gunshot counts, every single one has been calculated seconds beforehand in his head. He’s intelligent, a mastermind behind a metallic gun that booms through the air with bullets made of lead. Mark can see the golden death items cut through the air, the force of them lightly lift the ends of his hair from the soft blow it creates.

Ten shoots again, this time at Mark’s right and hitting the edge of the shelf above Mark. The shelf with heavy amounts of metal falls right on cue, Mark barely makes it out alive before he’s toppled with heavy weights. And this is exactly what Mark means when he says that Ten is a wild beast, but precise and more intelligent that he leads on. He doesn’t center everything around Mark, though the way he aims at time may seem that he’s out to shoot his head, but also at the objects _around_ Mark, trying to catch and trap him for one final deadly blow. Mark will never tell him how admirable Ten’s crazed mind is, even in the most dangerous situations, Mark has seen Ten throw down better than any of them could ever.

He breaks into a sprint as Ten continues shooting, aiming at spots before Mark gets to them in a calculation of meeting Mark’s steps in match to when he pulls the trigger. Mark jumps, ducks, rolls, halts and turns the other direction - everything so that Ten never gets a shot in, no matter how well he calculates it in his head over and over again.

Mark doesn’t stop until he’s out of Ten’s sight in the building. He thinks fast, moves just as quickly and determined to find the victims. He follows the muffled screaming, presses his ear to the walls so it can guide him to where Chittaphon, alias Ten, has tied and tormented them. He doesn’t have time to pause or hesitate as he opens doors, kicks through wood and blockings of the worn down building.

He can’t hear Ten anymore, and that’s never good. It can only mean two things in a crucial moment. Either Ten is waiting for him, for an epic showdown, where he keeps his victims or he’s hunting for Mark, tracing his line of pattern in order to catch him slip. Mark doesn’t have time to think or pray that it might be the second of the options, he’s supposed to know exactly how to handle both versions of his fate. So along the way, he picks up axe and continues kicking through doors, stepping carefully and listening to the walls for any indication of Ten or the victims.

It’s dark and a heavy cloud of dust clouds his vision, but Mark scrunches his nose and swings his axe when he hears the faintest noise of movement. Not even is he kind to the mice that scatter throughout the rundown building, he makes sure to not let a single soul pass him.

“Help!” a muffled scream comes from down the hall, Mark takes off in a sprint in that direction to the rescue.

There isn’t a door, but the entrance is still boarded up completely with wood like someone had intended to keep others trapped in. Mark’s knows he’s hit a homerun when he pulls his arm back and lunges his axe at the wood, hearing the pleasing sound of cracking. He pulls his foot up and kicks, pulling the axe back and pushing the wood in. He repeats his actions multiple times until a light shines through and he can hear the pleads of the victim clearly now.

He kicks at the last bits and spots Yoonoh, alias Jaehyun, and Dejun, alias Xiaojun, from Kun’s clan tied back to back in their chairs. Mark rushes towards them and uses his axe to cut through the ropes, freeing them from one another. The moment of victory lasts only a second though because Mark hears Ten approach and he can see the boy aim his gun at his back from the wide blade of his axe. Mark pushes at Jaehyun and Dejun, keeping them away from harm, turning in time to hear the bullet go straight into a leg of one of the wooden chairs, completely destroying it.

Ten keeps shooting as Mark moves around the floor, dodging and even using the blade of his axe to bounce off the bullets. Ten continues confidently, a smirk on his lips as his hands stretches out, shot after shot piercing the air in an unforgiving manner. “Run!” Mark tells Jaehyun and Dejun as he charges towards Ten.

If Ten has reloaded his m1911 pistol like Mark suspects he has, he knows Ten must have two more shots left. So he doesn’t hesitate to swing his axe to scare Ten, catching him off guard only briefly, but long enough for him to reach for the gun. Ten isn’t kind, he knees at Mark’s stomach, punches along his ribs to get him to let go of his wrist, but Mark can’t dare to budge.

Mark punches at Ten with his free hand a shot goes off, one more left and Mark intends to use it too. Ten’s entire face turns at the contact, he growls when he his eyes lock back with Mark’s. If he was murderous before, he definitely is now with a mouth full of his own blood. “I can’t let you, Mark,” Ten hisses as he forces to take several steps backwards, tripping them over the wooden chairs and rope.

“Neither can I, Ten,” Mark growls back, barbaric and thirsty to see Ten under him, completely at him will with a push of a trigger.

They wrestle and sometimes the gun gets dangerously close to both of their heads before it’s gone in a split second. Mark’s bleeding from his temple and he’s not sure how Ten manage to do that to him, but he knows this is Ten and he knows they’ve had the same amount of training (that’s not to count the one on one training Mark hears Ten ask Johnny for constantly).

One moment Ten is on top of him, the next Mark is on him and it continues in a vicious cycle of blood and hisses until Ten fucks up first. He quickly tries to unbend his arm, but Mark pulls at his arm and hits his forearm wth a balled first until the pistol drops from his hold. Mark grabs it before it hits the ground and fires it at the chairs, watching the leg explode to bits with the last shot.

He pulls back and holds the gun to Ten’s back, “Are we done here?” He asks, voice tired as his chest rises high and then low in exhaustion, the taste of blood in his mouth and he can’t tell if it’s his or Ten’s anymore.

Ten hangs his head low for a moment, shoulders shaking in a chuckle. He raises his hands and turns to face Mark with blood smeared on his jaw and a tiny pool along his ear that slides down his neck like ruby tears. Mark knows he must look the same, can taste the blood, can feel it slide along his skin and smell it on himself mixed in with the sweat. They both stare at one another for the longest time, hair and clothes rumpled, trying to catch their breaths.

And then, after what seems like a showdown, Ten gives him a crooked smile that reeks of approval before he says, “Yeah, we’re done.”

 

 

 

⚔️

 

 

 

“Ow,” Mark whines out in pain as Yerim pulls harder on his arm. “Fuck, can you relax—“ He flails his other arm, hitting his palm against the mat to let her know he’s done, completely drained for once.

Except Yerim is a bit of an asshole that enjoys to see her colleagues suffer just as much as she does, if not more that is. “No tapping out,” She warns.

Before Mark can squirm away, she presses her legs harder along his back and pulls on his arm that’s trapped between her legs, stretching it out. Mark groans, cheek completely squashed along the cool mat making it uncomfortable for his cheekbone and teeth. Yerim only smirks and his misfortune and pained whines, pulling more and more to see how far Mark would go until he finally broke.

“Giving up?” Yerim questions in a mighty tone.

Mark breathes out heavily from his nose, “No,” He hisses and cheats by grabbing at Yerim’s braided hair, pulling it roughly once.

It gives him enough time to run free from the position she had kept him locked in. His body had begun to feel numb, he can’t feel his left arm or the left side of his face when he jolts up. Yerim stands in rage from him aiming for her hair. She makes it known that she’s pissed by the way she pulls at Mark’s hair too, childishly latching onto him. Mark quickly kicks at the side of her leg, causing her to tumble back to the mat where he circles hands around her neck. Yerim holds onto his wrists and rams her knee three times harshly against Mark’s tailbone until he lets go.

“Having fun?” Johnny stops by in that moment before they can go at it again (or more so before Mark could get his ass beat by Yerim - _again)_.

Mark and Yerim send him intense eyes for intruding, but Johnny only stifles back at a smile. Instead he clenches a file in his hold, bringing it up to shake up in the air to get their attention. “Yerim, can I take Mark from you?”

Yerim nods her head quickly, wide eyes examining the file and then knocking her shoulder with Mark’s in a teasing manner before she’s gone. “Is that?” Mark can’t help but feel optimistic when he eyes the army green folder with a case number at the edge.

Johnny finally smile and nods his head, “Your month is up.” He pushes the file into Mark’s hand, “It’s yours, Taeil gave it to me last night.”

Mark holds the file in his hand, a feeling of accomplishment filling his chest as he stares down at the number. Mission number 9705 for special agent ML0899, real name Minhyung Lee, alias Mark. He runs his thumb along the words _classified_ , he can’t help the fast beating of his heart as excitement begins to cover him like a white blanket of snow, heavy and sinking.

“I suggest you look over everything tonight when you get home,” Johnny says. “This is meant to be a long mission, six months tops.”

Mark’s thumb halts over the word, he looks up at Johnny’s stern eyes. “Six months?” He questions in surprise. His previous missions had been one month, maybe three, but never half a year.

Johnny nods his head, chin coming up to point high. “There’s more than one or two bad guys, Minhyung.” His smile has dropped from his lips and his tone has become low, almost worried and terribly serious. “People are in and out of this case, you can be hunting for five people, but tomorrow it can double that. They don’t let just anyone in either,” He sighs out

Mark nods his head in understanding, “This is everything?”

“Everything,” Johnny says without missing a beat.

Mark looks down at the folder once again, tongue darting out to lick at his dry lips. “When do I leave?”

“In three days,” Johnny lets a grin slip on his lips as looks at Mark. He reaches gentle hands out to dust at the imaginary dust on Mark’s shoulders, he meets his eyes. “Pack warm. Canada can get pretty cold in winter, but I’m sure you knew that, Minhyung.”

 

 

 

⚔️

 

 

 

Mark Lee is twenty-one, born and raised in Toronto, Canada. Graduated at a local high school near his parents' home, attended a local college and barely graduated two months ago in May. It’s July now and he has a paid internship with CHC Corp. in the finance division. Mark Lee couldn’t be happier; fresh out of college with a degree in finance and an ambition to hopefully run the division in CHC.

Mark Lee is nothing like Minhyung, but he’s everything Minhyung has to be for the job.

There’s something shady happening in CHC, something more than a couple tax frauds. There was a total of five deaths that correlate back to CHC in the last three months of this year. Taeil suspects human trafficking and Mark can’t deny that he has a hunch too.

“This is your desk,” Rose, the beautiful secretary of the sixth floor, where Mark is located, smiles nicely as she points at the cubical. Not a single strand of hair is out, her clothes look ironed about a dozen times and the curl of his lips seem so strained that it almost seems genuine.

Mark nods his head with an enthusiastic smile, “Thank you—“ He pauses to read her name tag, feigning as if he hasn’t done a background check on every single person on his floor plus more. “Rose,” He finishes politely.

She purses her lips for a second, when Mark blinks, it’s gone. “Cody should come around later to show you everything, he’s currently in a meeting.” She's monotone and completely uninterested, Mark’s certain she’s runs through interns like they’re a sales rack at the mall. “Is there anything else I can assist you with?” She smiles, teeth baring and eyes blinking back at him that tells him _don’t ask for anything else._

Mark, feeling like an asshole, smiles wider at her. “Can you show me where the restroom is? I got a bit lost earlier.”

Her smile falters at his words. Through her teeth she says, “Right this way, Mark.” Turning on her pointed heels to quickly show him where the restroom on the sixth floor are located.

Mark follows quietly behind her as she leads the way. He has half a mind to tell her she’s going the _long_ way, but refrains because he’s new and not suppose to know a single thing about CHC, let along the exact parameter and outline of the entire building. There’s a reason why Taeil, Johnny and Kun chose him for this job, it’s because Mark might just be the biggest overachiever in the entire planet. That hasn’t failed him yet though, so no one is complaining.

“Here you go,” She motions to the restroom doors, “Anything else?”

Mark shakes his head innocently, “Nothing. Thank you, Rose.”

She nods her head and doesn’t linger even for a second. Mark drops his smile and innocent eyes when she’s gone and instead slips into the restroom. If everything is on schedule, Cody’s meeting should be ending in thirty minutes and Mark will have to go back and wait at his desk with the gummiest smile he can muster.

He had thought about snooping or becoming acquainted with the people around his cubicle. Now was the best time to pry and make himself seem like a curious go-getter instead of later and seeming to raise red flags for the people pulling the strings. Mark was here to infiltrate and break down the core of everything, which is why they had given him six months to do it. Not too much time for the grand scheme of CHC to expand, but not too little time for Mark to come back empty handed. A perfect plan coaxed up by his brilliant superiors—

The door opens abruptly when Mark slides into a stall, hopping on the toilet lightly just in case. “Look at me,” Mark hears the man's stern voice snap.

“Wait,” The second man says, voice weaker than the first one, but sounding oddly suspicious as he whispers. There’s a pause, “What were you saying?”

Mark remains still on the toilet seat, arms on either stall wall so that he won’t lose balance as he listens in on them. He hears the sound of shuffling, and then the sound of paper echoing inside the restroom. A gasp falls from the second man’s lips, “I got an invite.” The first man says, the one with the stern, deep voice. “It’s in red envelope just like Cody said it would be in.”

“Is it addressed to you?” The second man says, voice getting progressively weaker. “I didn’t receive one,” He sounds terribly insecure, almost upset too at the fact that he hasn’t received his own red envelope.

“It’s addressed to me,” The first one says in triumph, in such a demeaning manner that explains why the second sounds smaller and smaller. “Maybe the stockholders didn’t like you much, maybe someone in management pissed them off.”

The second one hisses out, seeming to grow a backbone. “Is it my fault someone fucked up last week? No. Cody said—“

“You would get one if the stockholders trusted you for one,” The first one reminds with a sharp tone. “They can’t just let anyone in, you know that. There’s a lot of shit that goes on around here, these selective red envelopes are sketchy enough—“

The door of the restroom opens again and the two men fall quiet under the newcomer. The person who walks in greets them with a simple _hello,_ but it sounds almost as a question. Mark can gather that the two men talking must be from another division or at least one of them is and for them to be gossiping in the men’s restroom on the sixth floor in the finance division was enough to catch anyone’s attention.

Mark hears the faucet run and then the hand dryer before the door opens again to signal the exit of who he assumes were the two men talking about the red envelope one of them revived. Not a moment after does he hear a flush from one of the urinals, must be the newcomer, before the sound of a zipper coming up and door slamming echoes the restroom. Mark tries not to think about how someone in his division just grabbed their dick, took a piss and walked out without washing up. He makes a mental note to not shake hands with anyone in his division.

After a pause, he hops off the toilet just at the same time he hears the sound of shoes hitting marble floor echo. Mark freezes and looks down, tilting his head to see black, sleek Chelsea boots ok the stall next to him. The owner of the shoes pauses as well, seeming alarmed at the fact of someone else being in the restroom when no one was momentarily. Mark winces at himself, lightly hitting his forehead with his palm at how he could have missed someone walk in and stepped into the stall next to him. _It must have been when one of the first guys turned the hand dryer on,_ he thinks to himself.

He boldly steps out of the stall, passing the person with the Chelsea black boots and heading for the sink to turn the water on. Mark places soap in his hands and rubs them together, placing his hand under the cool water. He keeps his eye strained on his hands, even when there’s a flush and the stall door opens, the sound of clicking heels can be heard along the marble floor.

He doesn’t even look up when the person skips a sink between he and Mark to wash his own hands. “It’s hot outside, huh?” The velvet voice says suddenly, Mark is momentarily surprised by the sweet sound.

He looks up through the mirror and finds a guy, perhaps around his age, maybe younger, staring back at him with dark orbs. He’s wearing a smirk on his lips, the cool water hitting his sun kissed skin, his pink lips parted slightly to show a couple of pearly whites that beam under the bright light of the restroom. His hair a chocolate brown, silky and long enough to fall over his ears and forehead. Mark stares at him through the mirror, noting the moles along his face, the flex of his brow, the slope of his button nose, and the length of his neck, tan and beautiful.

“Excuse me?” Mark stammers out in the heat of the moment, lips working faster than he could wish for a proper sentence to form.

The person, this young man with the pretty moles and the silky hair and pouty lips and the beading, dark eyes turns to actually look at him. “I said, it’s hot, isn't it? The month of July, it’s hot.” He purses his lips, making them look a bit fuller, Mark flickers to them briefly when he turns to meet his eyes too.

“Yeah,” He mumbled back, unsure of why this stranger was wishing to have this conversation with Mark while they washed their hands.

“Thought I’d make some conversation,” The young man says with a smile until a dimple forms on his cheek, and Mark might have been smitten by him in that moment. Were Canadians always this friendly? “My friends say I talk too much, they say I can have a conversation with anyone.” He chuckles softly to himself, hand coming up to close the faucet while Mark’s still ran. He looks at him through the mirror and says, “I’m just curious about everything and everyone.”

Mark nods his head slowly in understanding, even though he hasn’t had a clue as to what the handsome stranger means exactly by his words. He finds himself saying, “It’s good to be curious about things.” In an attempt to keep the conversation alive somehow.

The stranger stops smiling suddenly, he blinks back at Mark through the mirror, and it’s almost like Mark sees another person. He smiles again, eyes turning to crescent moons as he looks at Mark. “Is it?” He retorts in a light tone, but it strangely feels heavy on Mark’s mind.

Mark raises a brow and shuts the faucet off with a sharp movement to let the stranger know he’s not one he should meddle with, even if it’s just for simple teasing. “You tell me,” He clicks his tongue and looks away from the mirror, instead turning his body to stare straight at him, arms crossed.

“I guess knowing everything doesn’t hurt,” The stranger continues, eyes still as bright, smile still as wide, but words just as drowning as they had before. “Too bad it doesn’t seem like you know anything… _Mark_.” The sly snark comes as a surprise, his smile turns into a smirk and his eyes never waver, not even when they look up at Mark with clear fascination.

Mark blinks, once, twice before he abruptly presses his forearm to the strangers chest, pushing him back until the hand dryer digs harshly into their back. The stranger, with the honey skin and the sickening sweet voice, nasally and sharp, parts his lips in surprise, but doesn’t scream or push Mark away. Mark presses harder at his chest, the stranger grips his forearm with his long, pretty fingers, one at Mark’s wrist and the other on his elbow. He taps his cool fingers, a little wet from the water, on Mark’s warm skin to the sound of the dryer going off.

“Is there something wrong?” His tone changes quickly, from teasing to cold, like a sharp icicle ready to pierce at Mark’s throat if he dares to push again. “Did I say anything to offend you?” He smells good, so nice that Mark unconsciously parts his own lips for a taste of the sweet cologne he wears. Honey, maybe even a dash of mint, Mark marvelous momentarily at how splitting they are, but how similar they to the owner of the smells.

Mark clenches his jaw, “My name.”

The stranger chuckles, Adam’s apple bobbing at his words, driving Mark to believe how absurd they both are to be in this position, this close and this intense from the beginning. The stranger looks away from Mark, downwards to the side and Mark follows his vision to where Mark’s lanyard has fallen out of his pocket, his ID on display with his name, serial number, division unit and classification. _Intern._

The stranger pulls at his wrist, slowly pulling it away Mark’s forearm away from his chest and bringing him just a tad bit closer. He holds his hand between them, his palm on his elbow as he clicks his tongue at him in disdain. “Being curious got the best of me,” He whispers between them. “Huh, Mark?”

He’s still for the longest moment, slow eyes moving from his lanyard up the stranger’s jean covered legs, up his, up his side, along his arm, across his neck and finally to his eyes. He doesn’t look happy or in a mood for teasing anymore, Mark blinks back at him innocently before he pulls back, slowly. He takes a step back to lift his lanyard ID up, he takes a step back, and then a few more to stare at the stranger in pure confusion and a bit of embarrassment.

“Your lanyard fell out of your pocket when you were washing your hands,” The stranger continues to smirks at him, cocky as ever. “You didn’t hear it? Must have missed it.”

Mark runs his thumb along the ID, over his picture where he screams of excitement and ambition, much like he had when Johnny handed him his mission folder. Mark almost feels like he’s fucked up (he probably has) the mission because of this stranger. Word might get around that the intern in the finance division is real fucking odd when you mention his name, and that’s enough to make Mark clenches his jaw and grip his ID tighter in his hold.

It’s been a day and Mark feels like it’s already gone to shit because of the young, handsome, yet insanely obnoxious bastard in front of him.

“My bad, dude,” Mark sheepishly scratches the back of his nape. “A habit of mine I have from the past, growing up with siblings and all does that to you.” He tries to laugh it off, seeming as a fool when he’s anything but.

The stranger smiles as well, “Trust me, I know.”

“Sorry, I didn’t get your name?” Mark continues with a bright look in his eyes, hopefully along the lines of polite and conversational for the stranger to open up. “Do you work in this division too? I’m just starting.” He offers a hand for him to shake, a silent threat for him to not say anything outside of the walls of this restroom.

“No,” The stranger before him stands tall, eyes glued to the hand for a second as if debating to take it. He doesn’t have to make the choice, the alarm on his watch makes him decide. “Sorry, I’m running late,” He makes a show to clicking the watch to get the alarm to stop.

Mark is left with his hand out, fingers turning cold in hot July, smile flickering like a bulb running out of light at the rejection. The stranger fixes at his hair, tucking in his shirt into his ripped jeans, and Mark notices there’s not a single lanyard ID on him to indicate he even works here at all. He’s certainly not in the attire, clad in all black from head to toe, but somehow looking brighter than the lights in the restroom, somehow still blinding Mark when he studies him.

The stranger smiles one last time to be friendly, though Mark gets vibes that he’s anything but that, before he walks towards the exit. He hand rests on the door, he turns to look at Mark over his shoulder and says, voice filled with dark amusement, “By the way, I didn’t hear you flush the toilet.”

Then he’s gone, completely vanished from Mark’s sight before he can blink, leaving only crumbs of his trace that any other person would have looked over. The only indication that he had been there was the wet sink he had used and the restroom door vibrating upon his exit. Not a name, not an indication of who he was except for his velvet voice that ringed in Mark’s ear. He even remembers seeing the Little Dipper on his face, just along his cheekbones, sliding down to his neck where he has more moles. Mark remembers his expression clear as day, even later when he’s sitting in his cubicle waiting, when he closes his eyes he sees him in pitch black. The taste of honey and mint lingering in Mark’s mouth, and the chill he had run down Mark’s spin when he had said his name from his own lips.

_It's good to be curious about things._

_Is it?_

**Author's Note:**

> thank u so much for reading! i will see u when i update next <3  
> [my curious cat](https://curiouscat.me/lustsick)


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